


Goal Oriented

by femmenerd



Series: Glimpses 'verse [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural, The L Word
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Crossover, F/F, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-28
Updated: 2006-08-28
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenerd/pseuds/femmenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the same 'verse as my Faith/Dean fic Glimpses (around the same time as the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1232683/chapters/2529082">"Evening on the Ground"</a> chapter), but it's PWP, so you don't need to read that first. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>“I’m Shane,” she says in a nice, low, growly purr.  Yeah, that’s the stuff, Faith thinks.  You’re gonna do me right.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Goal Oriented

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alizarin_nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/gifts).



> One night at writercon alizarin_nyc & I ate pizza, drank red wine and watched a lot of fanvids in my hotel room while wearing party dresses. That’s how I discovered that this was something she wanted to see.
> 
> Originally posted on LJ [[here].](http://femmenerd.livejournal.com/113837.html)

Faith goes on an all-pussy diet after things implode with Dean. It’s stupid, she knows, the idea that avoiding all humans with his same-style anatomy while in a state of undress could somehow make her forget. But what the fuck? Faith has always liked girls, right from the beginning—liked to make them moan and sigh. She likes the way they smell, sweet and sticky on her fingers. Likes their girl-lips and soft thighs made slippery with the right kind of sweat. 

It’s no real loss in itself, avoiding cock (at least the kind made of flesh and blood—synthetics are just fine in her book). 

So she tells Angel, “it’s been a good visit and all, but it’s Saturday night, and I’m gonna head,” and licks off for West Hollywood. Any of these dyke bars will do—Faith’s got her leather on clinging tight, and the dark shade of lipstick that lets the whole world know she’s dangerous freshly applied. She’s going in for the kill, and is decked out accordingly. 

She picks the first one she finds. _The Planet_ is kind of a hippie-sounding name but the music pouring out the doors doesn’t have that vibe; it’s got a good beat for dancing. Faith decides she’ll risk it. She struts in and smiles as she scopes out the scene. Fashion dykes everywhere meets the eye, in all different shades of blonde, brunette, femme, butch and in-between. Yeah, this will do just fine. 

Faith orders a whiskey and a chaser, gulps both down quick and surveys her choices leisurely, deciding to dance. She does a quick circuit around the room, swinging her hips and tossing her hair, getting warm inside from all the leers. She may be East Coast from birth, but the same tricks work everywhere. But Faith’s still not finding what she needs tonight. Tonight she wants to get fucked, good and hard, no questions asked, and she’s seeking that special glint in someone’s eye. 

When she returns to the bar, Faith orders two more shots and swallows them both down neat; maybe some whiskey goggles will help her prioritize. As she’s slamming the second one down on the bar, she catches a glimpse of spiky, organized-chaos, brown hair and smirk that could light a furnace. In fact, Faith realizes, as her body starts to tingle, it already is. The girl wastes no time, slinking over with skinny, boy-girl grace in low-slung black leather jeans. Paired with her white, wife-beater tanktop, this chick and Faith could be twins. Except totally not. 

“I’m Shane,” she says in a nice, low, growly purr. Yeah, that’s the stuff, Faith thinks. You’re gonna do me right. 

Somewhere in the pit of her stomach she dimly realizes that there’s something kind of familiar about this particular brand of cocky—the high cheekbones and pretty grin—but she shakes it off and says, “So, you gonna buy me a beer to wash down all the love-potion I just imbibed?”

Shane nods her head slowly and raises a long, slim finger in the air in the direction of the bartender, a twittery redhead who comes over lickity-split. “Two Buds in a bottle,” Shane says, never taking her eyes off of Faith. “That all right with you?” she asks as an after-thought. Mmmmm, this one thinks she’s going to take charge. 

“Sure, whatever,” Faith says and readjusts so her tits are perched high. When the drinks come, Faith chugs half of hers down fast. She drops the bottle on the counter and pulls Shane in so their hips are interlocking, going in like she’s got a secret to tell and licking Shane’s ear instead. Shane laughs and says, “Man, I knew you were my kind of girl from across the room. Thank god I was right.” 

Faith places her finger to Shane’s pouty lower lip and says, “Enough with the small talk. Just take me wherever it is you’re gonna fuck me. ‘Cause I’m drunk enough already and I didn’t really come here to dance.”

~

It’s a nice neighborhood, kinda posh, and Faith vaguely wonders what the fuck this girl does to afford a place like this, but the thought drifts away quickly. She doesn’t really care.

They enter the door kissing, lots of teeth and tongue, and god those pretty, pretty lips. For someone so scrawny, Shane packs a lot of sexy into her eyes and mouth. And then there’s the swagger. Can’t forget that. 

Faith’s ripping her shirt over her head by the time they hit the couch and her pants are around her ankles and swept off before they even make it to the bedroom door. This is _totally_ the right pace for Faith’s mood as it stands. 

This chick knows her game, four fingers in and pumping, nice rhythm and a thumb swirl on Faith’s clit _just_ when necessary. Dextrous. Faith likes that in a woman.

Shane’s not a talker and that’s cool with Faith. Especially since Faith’s gasping out fuck-sounds so loud, she wouldn’t be able to hear any sweet talk anyway.

Faith gets off quickly the first time, but Shane doesn’t stop, just slows down, limning Faith’s cunt in her own juices with the aid of those long-ass fingers Faith noticed at the bar—the ones that reach _all the way up_ , Faith is now aware. Shane licks Faith’s neck, slow and hot, and bites a nipple lightly on her way down. Pretty soon her angular chin is bumping where ass meets pussy and her tongue is lapping Faith to freak-out orgasms numbers two, three and—holy shit, was that four? 

“Fuck, man!” Faith pants out. “For that I’ll go down twice, return the favor.”

Shane chuckles and pulls Faith’s hand to her zipper, saying, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

~

“That was wicked hot. Thanks,” Faith says. “Now bum me a smoke and I’ll be on my way. Hope you’re not disappointed, but I don’t spend the night.”

Shane emits a slow grin and grabs her pack from her jean jacket, pulls one out for Faith and lights it, closing her lighter with a snap.

On her way out, Faith’s knees are pretty wobbly, so she’s glad that vamps don’t tend to hang out in this part of town. She meets her cab by the curb, gets in and slams the door. “Take me to the Hyperion,” she says and gives the address. Shit, she thinks, snickering internally, Angel is definitely going to smell this all over her. But he’s not her dad, so whatever. 

Faith leans back boneless in the seat, and realizes that for the first time in ages, she got laid and didn’t think about any lingering ghosts as her rocks went off. For a second that makes her inexplicably sad, but then she sets her jaw. Who cares? Faith got _exactly_ what she came here for.


End file.
